Bracing
by LuxaLucifer
Summary: Maedhros struggled with many forms of pain in his life, some more mundane than others. He spent half his life with his hand pressed to his back before anyone realized his spine was curving.


This was written because of a conversation intyaleglorfindeliel and I had on tumblr about how Maedhros was so tall he'd probably need a back brace (having to deal with much shorter people on a regular basis and doing a lot of bowing, etc.)...and I began thinking about how, after hundreds of years, his problem would only continue and so this was born. It got pretty serious as it went on...well, I hope you like it! :)

Maitimo/Russandol- Maedhros

Feanaro- Feanor

Tyelko- Celegorm

Ambarussa- Amrod and Amras

Findekano- Fingon

Curufinwe- (used in this context) Curufin

* * *

"Father?"

Fëanáro breezed into the room with comfortable familiarity, shooting something that could have been a grimace to untrained eyes, although Maitimo knew it as a smile. His business smile, in fact The real question was why his father wanted to do business in his bedroom.

"I thought you were traveling with Mother," said Maitimo carefully. "What happened?"

"Your mother missed Tyelko," said Fëanáro.

Maitimo knew he was lying. If anyone had missed Tyelko, it was his father.

"That's not why I'm here," his father informed him.

"I figured," said Maitimo, grinning. "Seeing as I'm not Tyelko."

The glare his father sent him was half-angry, half-amused, and Maitimo figured he was doing well. Since it would be rude to ask his father exactly why he had come, he bent down to hug him, the top of his father's head brushing his chin. When they parted, Maitimo groaned slightly as he straightened, hand pressed to his lower back, grimacing slightly.

When he looked back down at his father, he was surprised to see an entirely different smile; Fëanáro was triumphant, silver eyes glittering with possibility.

"Uh," said Maitimo.

"Just as expected," said his mysterious, genius, exceedingly _frustrating _father.

"What's just as expected?" said Maitimo, baffled.

"Take off your shirt," ordered Fëanáro.

As Maitimo watched, his father sat in one of the over-large chairs made especially for him. Fëanáro grumbled a bit as ink-black hair fell in his face and he irritably brushed it aside, tangling it in the process.

"What're you waiting for?"

Maitimo took off his shirt, feeling a bit weird as his father examined him from his chair. He idly scratched the flat planes of his stomach. He was starting to wonder if his father might need to take an extended break from work.

"Turn around."

Regardless of how he felt, he obeyed his father without question. His father whistled, long and low, and he began to sweat. What was going on?

Fëanáro stood up and started circling him, muttering to himself as he tapped his chin. Finally, he spoke.

"How often do you have back pain?"

"I-what?"

"Back pain, like when you hugged me. How often?"

Maitimo was beginning to gather what was going on. "Every day, when I bend my head to get through doors, when I talk anyone other than Turukáno...I can't really ride horses anymore, it hurts too much, even the biggest."

Fëanáro was nodding. "I should have realized this sooner. You're too tall."

"I realized that a long time ago," sighed Maitimo.

"No, what I mean is that you're going to continue to have these back problems. Your spine is already curving- I can see it, right in front of me. I did some research..."

His father continued, and from the way his eyes lit up, Maitimo knew he was onto something. Most of the words coming out of his mouth didn't make much sense until the end-

"I'm making you a back brace, okay?"

And really, how could he say no?

* * *

He should have said no.

It was so _embarrassing._

But he _needed_ it. He hadn't realized how much until he'd put it on, but his spine was just as curved as his father said, and he'd desperately needed its help.

"Russandol, you in there?"

He didn't usually wear it out in public, but they were going to a big function- lots of dancing and greeting people and bending over to bow for them. He needed it, he really did. He stared at the brace as it lay on his bed, next to his ornate ceremonial robes. The task of putting the complicated brace on and then attempting the robes afterward was daunting.

"Russandol?"

He snapped his head up. He hadn't heard the first the first time, but now his heart jumped into his throat, pounding out an incessant rhythm. "Don't come in!" he shouted.

"Are you okay?" It was definitely Findekáno; there was no mistaking the voice. Maitimo knew that if he took much longer his cousin would going to come in whether he wanted him to or not.

"I'm fine, just a se-"

Too late. Findekáno burst through the door as though Maitimo's room were on fire. This was often how Findekáno entered Maitimo's room.

"What's that?" asked Findekáno, panting a little.

"What's what?" said Maitimo, crossing his arms and looking down on his cousin like he had no idea what he was talking about.

Ow. Ow, his back. Looking down meant bending down. Findekáno's gaze went from Maitimo's wince of pain to the brace sitting innocently on his bed and something in his expression cleared.

"Trust you to notice it immediately,"grumbled Maitimo.

Findekáno tossed his dark hair and grinned. "We're going to be late at this rate. How do you put that on?"

"What?"

"It's for your back, isn't it?" said Findekáno. "I bet your father made it. You've been walking straighter lately, and you haven't made all those horrible noises when you bend down."

"It is," he conceded. "My spine's been curving from looking down at all of you short people."

"This short person just wants to help," said Findekáno. "Take your shirt off, I'm getting this contraption on you right now. Then those robes, because I am _not_ suffering through this party without you."

"You don't think I'm..." Maitimo struggled for words, his thoughts not forming properly as he stared into his cousin's concerned eyes. "...A freak? You don't think it's messed up, that I'm not perfect like everyone else?"

"You're freakishly tall, maybe," said Findekáno, picking up the brace. "But you're not a freak. I promise. And no one is perfect, not even me," he finished, grinning.

Maitimo's smile was watery as he pulled the shirt over his head. He was glad he had a friend in Findekáno.

* * *

When Curufinwë and Findekáno walked into the room together, Maitimo knew something was up. He wasn't sure what it was, and unless they wanted to tell him, he had a feeling he wouldn't figure it out. His head and body hurt, the stump of his right arm burning and aching more than the rest as he tried to concentrate on his visitors.

When Findekáno entered, he smiled. Curufinwë did not. Maitimo wondered what it would take to cheer his brother up.

"I'm assuming you're not here to change the bandages," he said jokingly, wincing at the way his voice croaked.

Findekáno was hiding something behind his arms. "How's your back?"

"That's oddly specific," said Maitimo, bunching the blankets with his left hand as a spike of pain shot through his arm. "But I suppose I would say that it's like the rest of me. Injured, but getting better."

Findekáno and Curufinwë exchanged looks. "Well, now that most of the bandages on your torso are gone, we thought you could use this," said Findekáno, drawing out the item he had hidden behind his back.

"W-What's that?" he whispered.

He stared at the contraption for a long moment, trying to figure out what it was, why it had all those straps and what it was for. Then he remembered. That pain felt like a lifetime ago, so minor and unmemorable compared to everything that had happened since.

"How did it make it here?" he asked quietly. "I left it behind. There were...more important things going on."

"I told Curufinwë about the brace your father made," said Findekáno quietly. "And he agreed to make a new one for you. It'll be a bit big right now, but when you gain some wait it'll fit better."

He stared blankly at it for a moment, unsure of what to say or do. "Thank you," he said finally. "I expect it will help with the pain."

Curufinwë's nostrils flared and his face tightened, looking more like a stone carving than an Elf as Findekáno strapped the brace on him. Maitimo was not insulted though, for he'd watched his brother grow up and knew it was the way he stopped himself from crying.

"Thank you," he said again, and from the way Findekáno squeezed his shoulder, he knew that it meant as much to them as it did to him.

* * *

No matter how old Amrod got, he never stopped sneaking through Maedhros's things.

At least he did it while Maedhros was watching now. When the Ambarussa were young he'd often come back to his room in shreds, occasionally even finding the causes of it hiding under his bed with wide eyes. By that time Fëanor and Nerdanel's marriage had been as such that Maedhros had ended up taking care of them, teaching them and loving them even as their parents' marriage crumbled around them. Maedhros hadn't minded; he was an unmarried prince who loved children and little better to do.

For all that they had been close, Amrod rarely visited Himring. It was too painful for both of them.

Maedhros sat in his favorite armchair and watched, amused, as Amrod picked through his closet, muttering things like 'do you really wear this' and 'by the _light_, if he ever wears this around me I swear I'll rip it right off him'. Maedhros chuckled as he lightly held his wine glass, swinging it in soft circular motions as he watched his brother.

"What's this?" asked Amrod, holding out a large contraption with straps hanging off it.

"Oh, that," said Maedhros, feeling his face heat up. A face covered with scars and still he couldn't keep a blush off it. "It's one of the back braces Curufin made me. That's my spare."

"Where's the other one?" said Amrod, tilting his head and looking far too innocent for an adult who'd killed other Elves. Maedhros knew he did it on purpose.

"I'm wearing it," he admitted. He wore them almost all the time now. Now that he had to look down at, not only Elves, but humans and Dwarves, he found his back, weakened by decades of torture, needing the support.

"Can I see?"

Just like that, Amrod was less than a foot away from him, leaning over his chair like a large alarming puppy. Maedhros felt his heart skip a beat by the fast approach- it brought to mind the quickness of the lash, the high laughter of orcs, the-

Amrod must have seen something in Maedhros's eyes, because he took a step back, apology in his eyes. He blinked, and when he opened his eyes his brother was smiling.

"You want to see the brace?" he said, the question not sounding quite as dumb in his gravelly, broken voice. "Why? You've already seen what it looks like."

"I'm just curious," said Amrod, looking like he was beginning to regret the question. "You don't have to, though."

"No," said Maedhros. "I'll do it."

He set his wine down and eased out of his chair. When sitting, he and Amrod could look at each other with anyone's discomfort, but when he stood, he towered. Amrod wasn't the shortest brother (that was Caranthir, much to his annoyance), but none of them stood close to his height.

Maedhros unbuttoned his robes with deft fingers, having centuries of practice doing it one-handed. He opened it all the way to his breeches, so that Amrod could get a clear view of the brace that firmly held his spine in the right place

He prayed that Amrod's gaze did not stray to the scarring above the brace, where his chest hardly resembled a chest, only a mass of scar tissue laid over a ruined heart.

Thankfully, it did not. Amrod stared at the brace, even peeking into the robes to look at his back to see what it looked like there. Maedhros could no longer twist back that far, but he could imagine. Amrod withdrew his head, watching stray strands of auburn hair brush his stomach even as he couldn't feel them.

"Makes me wish I had the skill Curufin and Tylpe have," sighed Amrod. Maedhros did not tell him that it was their father who had designed the original.

"You have to call him Celebrimbor now," reminded Maedhros, buttoning his robes back up.

Amrod made a face. "It feels strange on the tongue. I don't like it much."

"We must suffer with many things we do not like."

"Don't wax all philosophical on me," grumbled Amrod. A pause. Then... "I missed you, brother. Even all my hunting cannot hide that."

Maedhros drew him in for a hug, bending without pain to rest his head on top of his brother's.

* * *

His anger was palpable. Soldiers stepped out of his way as he whipped past them, a cloud of anger enveloping him as he burst into his brother's tent.

"What is it?" said Celegorm, his smile tight and unnatural as his eyes glared at his elder brother.

"Where are they?" growled Maedhros, his voice much louder than intended as he pressed his hand to his back, trying not to let his pain show. "They're not in my tent!"

"What are you on about?" said Curufin, eyes narrowing. "We have less than a day's march until we reach Doriath. If you think we are going to call it off-"

"This is not about that," he snapped. "And if I were to call it off, _you would call it off._ Last I checked I was still the eldest brother and the head of our armies."

Caranthir frowned, passing a hand over bloodshot eyes. "What are you looking for?"

"My braces," he said, doubling over as pain shot up his back. "I need my damn _brace._"

"Brace?" said Celegorm, stnading up form the perch where he'd been sharpening his sword. "What brace?" He and Caranthir exchanged confused looks.

"For my back," he panted, massaging his back with shaking fingers. "I've been wearing one for years. I need it, I can't ride horseback without it."

"Where were you planning to go?" asked Celegorm sharply.

Maedhros's gaze was harsh when he met his brother's eyes. "I was planning to go to Doriath, to treat with them one last time before our attack. We are about to cross a line I never wanted to cross again, and I will do everything I can to stop it."

Doubled over the way he was, his brothers were taller than him. Celegorm, Curufin, and Caranthir had the same stone expressions as they watched their brother moan in pain, three identical silhouettes standing unmoving as he cried out.

"It's for the best that you can't find those braces," said Celegorm coldly. "Treating again would have been a mistake. We are relying on the element of surprise, after all."

Maedhros wanted one of them to help him up to his feet, but none of them offered their hand. He pulled himself up with a strained groan and straightened his back, ignoring the stab of pain this time in favor of casting an icy glare at his siblings.

"Without a brace, I won't be able to fight," he said quietly. "Remember that."

He left with dignity, and when he woke the next morning, he found a new brace lying next to his cot. Curufin must have stayed awake all night to make it. He never said a word about it.

In the miserable days after the battle, when his days were filled with tallying bodies and washing bloodstains out of his hair and clothes, he often wondered what had happened to those other braces and whether it was worse to have a bad back or no sleep during battle.

* * *

"Don't touch his things."

Maedhros wanted to tell his brother that, no, telling the twins not to touch his things wouldn't work, it would only make them want to touch them more, but he couldn't bring himself to. The man who'd known how to do that belonged to a different time and place, was happy and full of joy. Maedhros was no longer that person.

"Don't!"

Elrond- or was it Elros- he could never tell- pouted and scrambled back into his Maglor's arms, casting a scared look at Maedhros. He closed his eyes in reply and wondered when his height had stopped being a plus to children (giving them a tall, sentient tree to climb) and started becoming the stuff of nightmares.

He was actually rather relaxed, if truth be told. His soul was torn and his mind wandered; thinking of the past did nothing but hurt. Still, he was rather relaxed as he leaned against the tree, letting the sounds of Maglor taking care of the unruly twins wash over him. The light was streaming through the leaves, the grass was soft, and if he didn't think too much, he was all right.

Something was poking him. He opened his eyes and looked down to see a twin stabbing a stubby finger into his side, jarring enough to make him wince even through layers of clothing.

"Elros! Stop that!"

"It's fine," he murmured, not moving. "They're children. If you insist on taking care of them, let them do as they will."

It sounded so much harsher out loud. He was always harsh now, his voice, his face, his scarred body.

"Whass that?" said the twin who was Elros.

Maedhros did not reply. He was not a 'that.'

"No," said Elros, who was apparently a very young mind-reader. "Hard thing."

Maedhros felt his side and chuckled, letting it feel good even as it grated his throat. "A brace."

Maglor's gaze shot to him. "What? You wear a brace?"

Maedhros' let his brow furrow. "You didn't know?"

"No!"

"I've been wearing a back brace for hundreds of years. Since..."

He almost didn't say it. He took a deep breath.

"Since Valinor."

Maglor shook his head, black hair falling across his face. "The things you learn."

"Does it hurt?" asked Elros.

"I make it better if it does," said Elrond solemnly. "If you're nice."

"Not right now, it doesn't," said Maedhros quietly. "Sometimes it does, though. If I need healing, I'll tell you."

Elrond nodded and left Maglor's arms, toddling over to his own tree and plopping down under it. A very contemplative child, Maedhros thought.

Maglor moved closed to him as Elros joined Elrond and began to pester him. "How could I not have known?"

"I don't broadcast it."

"I'm your brother. Your last brother."

"Then know this. This is my last brace. Father made them for me, and then Curufin, and now this one is on its last legs. And I'm worried that when this one breaks I'll be useless, too broken and in pain to do anything, to make any attempt to get the Silmaril, to redeem myself," he said, his voice becoming more and more frantic as he spoke, fingers pressed into his stump as he spoke. "It's gotten so bad that without it I can barely walk."

Maglor knew what it meant, that he was admitting these things after so many years of silence, and he wrapped his arm around Maedhros, pulling him close and letting him rest his head of Maglor's shoulder, his calloused hands- doubly so from both the sword and the harp- gripping him tightly as though to make sure he was still there.

"It won't be much longer now," said Maglor. "One way or the other."

Maedhros found that comforting.

* * *

Reviews are (much more than) welcome! :)


End file.
